Each Journey

The lips fragrant taste of magnolias the air has left. And beautiful stars that shine have burned my eyes. And where the moss hangs down, the wind it moves to part the leaves fair green is hair. Each journey I have left it leaving which, is it returned. The oak is thick and now grown up, and you have returned to lean upon it trembles, know. Coming back to where you left it often growing up. The whitest of all stars and brightest star is when. And up in the sky, is the star that is the color of your eye, it never faded.